


Work Me Over

by Soupernabturel



Series: Magical Mystical Bunker Verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bunker Fic, Concerned Castiel, Concerned Sam, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Mystical Bunker Fic, Mark of Cain, Massages, Sexual Tension, Sexual implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I heard a scream.”</p><p>Dean grit his teeth, he did not lift his eyes from the table top, blurring slightly in his vision</p><p>“Not a scream.” he breathed deeply through his nose, leaning his full weight on the table. “I'm fine.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Me Over

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel Prompt: "I can- I can give you a massage."
> 
> One off prompt that got a little out of hand
> 
> soupernabturel.tumblr.com

It started, as most things did in Dean’s life, with a stupid fucking mistake.

 

In the aftermath Dean would feel it is important to acknowledge that the Men of Letters Bunker is old, old as balls, and in much the way old places are, their interior often reflects this. The Library's shelves were high, the stool Dean had balanced upon was rickety, frail and so when Dean fell with the force of a fallen comet, the aftermath left him sprawled across the floor, back spasming with the sudden pain.

 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, rushing forward. He reached out to help Dean off the floor, but Dean waved him off, sitting up.

 

“M’fine. Fine, fi-fuck!” He yelped, gripping his lower back.

 

“Dean just still still for a second okay, you might be really hurt.”

 

“Fuck-” Dean bit the inside of his cheek, shrugging off the pair of large hands that gripped him under his shoulders, pulling him upright. “I'm fine, okay look-”

 

He dusted himself off, back on his feet, hands planted on the table, bent at the waist. Sam hovered nervously at his side, expression twisted into a frown.

 

Jesus couldn't the man leave him alone? It took him two seconds to make his way to Dean while spying on him from the hall.

 

“I heard a scream.” came a voice entering.

 

Dean grit his teeth, he did not lift his eyes from the table top, blurring slightly in his vision

 

“Not a scream.” he breathed deeply through his nose, leaning his full weight on the table. “I'm fine.”

 

“Dean fell.” Sam explained. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder that was quickly rebuffed. Dean glared at his brother with poison green eyes, a look which was returned with nothing but Hazel concern.

 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, sliding into Dean's space, he touched Dean with a soft hand to his lower back, an action that would have had Dean jerking upright were it not for the cramping pain of his spine, as though the bones at the base of it were caught in a vice.

 

“Jesus what is this a Doctors Special?” Dean growled.

 

Castiel fixed him with a blue eyed stare. On his right, Sam huffed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Dean, you’ve been working yourself haggard over the Mark for weeks” he said calmly. It was the only way Sam spoke to him now, calm, as though he believed his own tone enough to set Dean off. “You need to go a little easy.”

 

“A little easy,” Dean repeated with a snort. The Mark pulsed to the tune of his annoyance. Dean tried not to let it show on his face.

 

“Sam is right,” Castiel said, softly spoken. “It will do you no benefit to become agitated.”

 

Dean was quickly becoming 'agitated' with this mother-henning, hippie peace, love and balance crap that had been going on so long he'd almost forgotten a time in which he was the one looking out for his brothers. Sam and Cas seemed to have divided between them Dean's duty of care. Either one of them always keeping an eye on him, Dean could feel it, even without the Mark. It was like the walls were closing in on him. He had almost forgotten the taste of the outside, cooped up for two weeks at least, trying to 'quell the Mark's urges' and 'find a cure', both fruitless endeavours in themselves.

 

It was only a shame neither of their 'concerning gazes' had fallen upon Dean before he pulled out his back.

 

“I’m not... _agitated_.” Dean said with enough strained calm that it seemed to reassure Sam, Cas on the other hand was less than impressed. “I'm fine I swe-”

 

Dean cut himself off, a cry building behind his Adams Apple when he tried to straighten up prematurely.

 

Two sets of hands, both strong in different ways, eased him into a standing position, holding him up. It took everything Dean had not to slump into the hold.

 

The Mark was ebbed for the first time in weeks. Touch seemed to help, but there was no way Dean was about to reveal that.

 

There had to be a way to remove it.

 

“Come on,” Sam said holding Dean to his side, as Castiel steadied him from the left. “Let’s get you to bed.”

 

Dean wanted to argue that he was not some invalid, not some crippled old man (he’d been on the merry go round once already, old age felt nothing like this) but when he could only walk with Sam’s arms around him, and Cas' arms _touching him_ he forced his mouth shut with a grimace and a muffled moan.

 

 

***

 

 For once, the memory foam on Dean's bed did not have Dean relaxing into an easy bliss.

 

The twinges in his back were like zaps of electricity, if Dean moved too quickly, moved in the wrong way, it would spark, lighting up his veins and tendons, making him bite his pillow with his teeth, or curl his fingers in his sheets.

 

The Mark relished in the pain, throbbing happily. Dean tried his best to ignore it.

 

It was after one such episode that Dean turned his head at the sound of the door, and soft, sock footed steps entering the room.

 

“Dean?” Castiel asked. “I've brought you some soup.”

 

Soup, food. If Dean's stomach wasn't so contorted it would have growled.

 

“Sammy make it?” Dean asked, lifting his head an inch from his pillow, the strain of it sending a fresh throb to his migraine, enough to twist his features into an unhappy frown.

 

Cas gave him a gentle smile. He sat down on the bed with careful movements. Dean only gave the slightest grimace, to the angels movements, though Castiel was looking to the bowl in his hands, which he placed on Dean's bedside.

 

Tomato rice soup. Dean's heart gave a painful jerk behind his ribcage.

 

“No,” Castiel said. “I adhered to your advice that it's within our best interests that Sam be kept from the kitchen.”

 

Dean fixed him with a look and the corner of Castiel's mouth twitched.

 

“He chopped the tomatoes.” said Castiel. Dean cracked a smile at that.

 

“Good man.”

 

Castiel puttered around for a little bit, before helping Dean into a sitting position with all patience and care one might afford a sickly child. For once Dean didn't mind the nursing, his aches and pains so insistent that the careful trail of Cas' hands, his steady grip was almost a comfort.

 

He had nimble fingers, Dean realised. Nimble fingers as perfectly apt to fine work as they were to wielding an Angel blade.

 

Dean looked at Cas' hands far longer than he meant to. If Castiel was disturbed by the attention, he said nothing of it. He just sat on the edge of the mattress and within those careful long fingers held the bowl in one hand, and the spoon in the other.

 

“You realise I'm not sick right?” Dean said, a little perturbed. But not a lot. There was a difference in Cas taking care of him then there was of Sam. Apart of him was just glad to have Cas around, staying. But that might have been the painkillers.

 

Castiel ignored him. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I’ve got a live wire wrapped around my spine.” Dean said wincing as he tried to make himself comfortable. Though there was food in near vicinity he eyed his Whiskey at the far side of the room. “Migraine isn’t helping any either, mind passing me my-”

 

“A massage would be beneficial for you.” Cas said, handing the bowl and spoon off to Dean once he was seated back against the pillows.

 

There was a moment in which Dean registered, analysed and interpreted his friends words.

 

“Ha.” he snorted, shifting a little (worth the twinge). “I wish.” he ate a bite of the soup before speaking. No sense wasting good food, and he was actually starving. “I’m copped up in here remember? case I snap, crackle and pop. Can’t exactly jog on over to the local masseuse for a little TLC.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Dean ate a few bites, Cas sat beside him, watchful.

 

“Which is why I would do it for you.” he said.

 

Soup dribbled down Dean’s chin.

 

“What?”

 

“It's in my power to alleviate some of your discomfort,” Castiel looked at his own hands now. “A massage can alleviate stress and discomfort and...” the words seemed to catch in his throat a moment. Dean himself had stopped breathing. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you one... a massage?”

 

Soup trickled onto Dean's hand. He swore, and licked the offending trail. Cas watched him with patient blue eyes, for a long time until Dean looked away. “Yeah but you’ve gotta be qualified for that shit.” 

 

_Play off the comment Winchester, be cool._

 

“I've watched humanity for over a millennia, I have an intimate knowledge not only of the stardust from which all life derives root, but also of every freckle, blemish and hair upon your body.” Well shit if that wasn't something. Dean ducked his head in a blush but Cas continued on. “I am an angel. A massage is not something beyond my power.”

 

Rubbing a hand over his face Dean glanced away. But he was in his room, his bedroom, which suddenly seemed more suggestive, more private than it had ever before.

 

The Mark on Dean's arm hummed the color red.

 

“Dean-“ Castiel said, watching Dean, who was not aware he was looking at his arm, the Mark bared to the air, naked for Castiel to see.

 

It was red, painful looking, more so than it had the day before, or the day before. Castiel's hand twitched on his thigh, but remained where it was, stationary.

 

“You know I would not touch you without your consent.” he told Dean.

 

Angels and consent, Dean remembered it well, sticklers for that shit, which was good, great, but Dean wasn't used to the idea of giving permission, verbal permission for someone to touch him. It felt too intimate.

 

“Yeah- yeah okay.” he managed, refusing to look at the Angel beside him. “S’not like you can put back out any more right?”

 

“I'll be gentle.” Castiel said, with all the severity of an undertaker.

 

Dean swallowed. “Ah, sure Cas.” He shifted, before remembering himself, the soup in his lap entirely forgotten slopped a little over the edge. “So you want to do this now?”

 

“Eat your soup.” Castiel smiled, rising. “I'll return with the supplies we’ll need.”

 

Well. That was that then.

 

 

***

  

Almost an hour later Dean was lying almost bare on his bed. Castiel was seated beside him, his hands slick with some oil that made Dean's nose tingle pleasantly. Cas used his hands slowly, working the muscles of Dean's arms, his shoulders.

 

It was easy lying there on his bed, for Dean to lose himself in the magic of Castiel's fingers. Carefully, they dug out the knots in Dean's spine, with the precision and skill of an artist. A particular roll of Cas' palm at his lower back caused a pleasant grind, a pop, in which tension was released and Dean gave out a long moan.

 

Turned out somewhere in his years of angelic knowledge Cas had picked up a few genuine massage techniques.

 

When Dean realised the sound he made, his skin burned hot. He wondered if Cas could hear his heart, pounding right through to his back, through his spine.

 

“You're tensing up.” Castiel spoke, his voice sunset low. “Try to relax.”

 

Though the angry pain had bled from Dean's back long ago, now the Mark buzzed on his arm in frustration. Cas was so close now, close enough to _kill, hit, stab, bleed, kiss_ -

 

“Trying.” said Dean, when he tensed up even more.

 

“The entire premise of a massage is to help you relax and release stress.” Castiel explained,then without another word, he hobbled over and straddled Dean's hips, a thigh on either side. He sat, nice and pretty, a top of Dean's ass.

 

"Is this okay?" he asked.  
  
  
Dean was too stunned to answer, but nodded his head and muffed a ' _Yes_ ' into his pillow. If he thought a ' _God Yes_ ,' on the end of that Cas was none the wiser.

 

He kneaded Dean's shoulders, his fingers gliding over skin coated in oil. Dean relaxed out of habit at the thumbs moving in slow languorous circles, easing away any last lingerings of pain. Cas squeezed and pulled with expert pressure, easing the strain he felt in Dean. In answer, Dean, lost in the haze and sensation of such touches, sighed in contentment.

 

“The smell of the oil is particularly soothing.” Cas spoke, it could have been minutes, could have been hours since their last words passed between them. Dean was too blissed out to care.

 

“S’all part of the experience.” he murmured.

 

Cas' hands just felt so goddamn good. His weight a top of Dean was nothing to scoff at either.

 

There was a sweetness in this, (that Dean would deny made his toes curl to his dying day) of Castiel doing this, taking care of him. He was actively trying (succeeding) to make Dean feel good.

 

Dean let Cas' hands trail over his skin, the man/angel above rose up on his knees.

 

He felt Castiel's hands hold him, work their way from the small of his back to his shoulders, down his arms his hands.

 

He lay on his stomach as soft palms spread oil across his back, down, down the length of Cas' sides, his hips-

 

“An experience I hope you are enjoying.” Castiel said, working with deft fingers beneath the waistline of Dean's sweats fingers grazing Dean's ass. He squeezed the mound like flesh there and Dean felt his eyes flutter.

 

Unwittingly, shamelessly he arched up into the touch, before realising what he was doing and slamming his hips back down.

 

Castiel said nothing, just hummed in the back of his throat and moved his hands up a bit further, though not after a short pause. He placed his hands on either side of Dean's spine, pressing in with the pads of his thumbs.

 

Dean answered in a moan, his toes curled inward before releasing. A flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks, the sound of his enjoyment almost pornographic.

 

Castiel seemed not to mind, he continued on in languid movements. Dean tried to focus his attention away from the sudden undercurrent he could feel in each of Castiel's movements. This was not meant to be sexual, he _knew_ that, but what Dean knew and what his body felt, the way it reacted were two entirely different things. Dean could feel his own arousal stirring gently, making him warm all over, moving lower, coiling.

 

“Dean,” a voice broke through the fog of sensation and thought. “Dean, you can turn over now.”

 

So Dean did, with a stretch and a groan like a sleepy cat, he rolled onto his side, then his back.

 

And, well, if Dean’s body had gotten a little confused during in the process, he didn't notice (not really) until Castiel's eyes fixed between his legs.

 

Before Dean could say anything, apologise perhaps, Castiel spoke and the world stopped spinning.

 

“Would you like a happy ending?”

 

Dean choked on his next breath, and shot up into a sitting position far too quickly. His head spun with sudden vertigo, he almost toppled off the bed but Castiel held him.

 

Though his eyes were on the (frankly obvious) bulge in Dean's sweats, fixed like lasers with angelic like fascination.

 

The Mark on Dean's arm, long forgotten during his massage came back with a vengeance. _Kill, smite, stab, take, bite-_

“Massages can often elicit this a reaction.” Castiel looked at him and licked his lips. He stood by the edge of the bed now and rolled his shoulders back, as though popping them. Dean watched the movement and his heart throbbed in tune with the Mark.

 

“A 'happy ending' is often considered a customary finale.” Cas' lips gave a quirk at the world _finale_ , while something in Dean's stomach warmed.

 

But Castiel,with all his caring with all of him, deserved better than a two bit hunter, ex-Demon, royal-end-of-the-world-broke-in-hell fuck up like Dean.

 

No matter how much Dean wanted a happy ending, he knew he didn't deserve it.

 

“N-n-nah man, Cas, t-that’s I’m-”

 

Castiel looked at him a long moment, seeing through all the bullshit most likely. But he said he would never touch Dean without his express permission, and so his hands were tied.

 

“Course,” Cas said, with a last, thoughtful, lingering glance towards the bulge in Dean’s pants. “Though you should have a shower, the warm water has a soothing effect after a massage. Good night Dean.”

 

He left the room at that, and left the door open behind him.

 

“Good night Cas.” Dean said a little sadly, a little meekly to the open door of his room.

 

A shower Dean would take, though a cold one would probably do him more good.

 

 


End file.
